


a late night at the bridge

by Nori_Chan



Series: hurting henry hidgens [1]
Category: StarKid Productions RPF, The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Depression, Eating Disorders, Mental Health Issues, Platonic Relationships, Pre-Canon, Starvation, Suicide Attempt, but not talked about in detail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 14:56:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18593590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nori_Chan/pseuds/Nori_Chan
Summary: My take on why Emma started getting groceries for her professor





	a late night at the bridge

**Author's Note:**

> Just wanted to write a little angst, don't mind me. I want to write more about Henry, his mental health issues, and his platonic relationship with Emma, so if you have any requests, please let me know! Also might write some tedgens in the future, who knows

“Have a nice day, asshole!”

Emma Perkins was having the shittiest day. Summer break had ended an entire month ago, but she still found herself missing those days; when she wasn’t at Beanie’s working double, sometimes triple shifts, she spent her summer days in bed, either sleeping or staring at her phone. Yeah, okay, maybe it wasn’t the healthiest thing to do, but she didn’t care. It was relaxing for her, if a little lonely at times. Not that she would ever admit that. She had convinced everyone around her that she was perfectly fine not having a single friend in Hatchetfield. The only person she ever talked to outside of work on a semi-regular basis was one of her professors at the community college. She had a biology class with him last semester, and if it wasn’t for him helping her outside of class almost every day, she probably would have failed and dropped out of college altogether.

It’s nice to know that some good people still exist here, I guess, she thought grimly as the door to the coffee shop practically slammed close. The irate man she had just had the displeasure of being forced to serve had left a sour taste in her mouth. In the back of her mind, she could hear her stupid little conscience nagging her about being nicer to the customers. But if said customer was going to hit on her despite her protests, he didn’t deserve any niceties.

It didn’t help that she hadn’t gotten any sleep last night either. Now that classes were back in session, it was a scramble trying to balance schoolwork with actual work. She had taken Hidgens’ kindness for granted; where he had been lenient about accepting her latework, her new professors were much more strict. Sometimes that meant staying up all night to get assignments done, which is what happened (again) last night.

“What was that all about?”

Emma was actually shocked when Nora appeared behind her. She turned to face her boss, trying not to look as tired and pathetic as she felt.

“Sorry,” she found herself apologizing even though she didn’t mean it. If she wanted to keep her job, she had to kiss ass, and a lot of it. “That guy was just being a creep and wouldn’t leave me alone.”

Nora’s lips pursed, but Emma was relieved to see the sympathetic glint in her eyes. Hatchetfield wasn’t exactly home to the most gentlemanly folk, they both knew.

“Just try to make sure it doesn’t happen again, okay?” Emma nodded, going back to leaning on the counter. It was the lull of the day which meant a lot of standing around and doing nothing. Well, if one of her coworkers were there, she would sneak away to the back for a bit to work on some homework. But it seemed like she was the only one there for the morning shift which was fine by her; it was almost over anyways. Zoey should be there any minute, and then Emma could finally get a nap.

Nora had almost completely retreated to the backroom when she suddenly turned on her heel. “Oh, by the way, Zoey called in again…”

It wasn’t until a little after ten that Emma was finally able to leave. Fuck Zoey. She never showed up for her fucking shifts these days. This was the third day in a row that she had called in, and it was the third day in a row that Emma would be going home so fucking late. She knew she could just tell Nora no every now and then, but she was really hoping for that promotion her boss kept hinting at. Plus, the extra money wouldn’t hurt. At least tomorrow was Sunday; no classes and no work, as long as she didn’t get called in.

She had waved Nora goodbye, still mumbling curses towards Zoey under her breath as she made her way to her car. She fumbled with her keys before plopping down into the seat. She was exhausted, and it probably wasn’t the greatest idea to be driving, but she only lived about a five minute drive from work. ‘Sides, she didn’t have the money for an uber, not if she wanted to pay her rent on time.

She put the key in the ignition, turned it, and… nothing happened. She scrunched her eyebrows together and tried again, but still nothing.

“Oh, god, oh please, no,” she prayed to no one in particular before giving up. She slammed her head down on the steering wheel, her groan matching the pitch of the horn. She stayed like that for a hot second until heard the distant cry of “Shut the fuck up!” no doubt from the open window of a nearby apartment. For a moment, she legitimately thought about just sleeping in her car for the night then walking back to her apartment in the morning.

“Eh… better not.”

The car door slammed heavily behind her. A click of the lock ensured her that no one would try to steal it; not like anyone wanted that piece of shit anyways. She would have to ask Nora tomorrow if she could keep the car there until she could afford to get it checked out. Her boss was a bitch sometimes, but she could be chill sometimes.

“At least it’s kind of nice out,” she observed as she started her long walk home. The cool breeze kept her from collapsing out of fatigue. Just as she was starting to finally enjoy this day, it seemed like the heavens above just had to smite her down. As she rounded a corner, she felt a single raindrop land on the tip of her nose. Her eyes went wide, and before she could even process what was going to happen, there was a clap of thunder and the skies opened up. Rain begin pouring down in sheets as she attempted to use her apron to shield herself from the worst of it. Her leisurely stroll turned into an all-out sprint. If she ran and took the shortcut through the park and across the bridge over the lake (which was really just a glorified pond) she could get home in ten minutes flat. She had done it before running on less energy, so she could definitely do it again.

It was nearly eleven when she reached the park. It was surprisingly empty for a Saturday night, what with all the druggies in town, but she wasn’t really complaining: she wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone right now. She had just taken a step onto the bridge, though, when she spotted a figure she was pretty sure she recognized.

“Professor?” Surely she must have been dreaming. Professor Hidgens didn’t ever leave his house except to go to class, and he sure as hell wouldn’t be in a public park this late at night. At least, she didn’t think he would, but she realized then that she knew next to nothing about him in reality.

“Professor Hidgens?” she tried again, inching closer to the figure. Yeah, that was definitely him, but maybe he couldn’t hear her over the roar of the wind? He wasn’t looking in her direction, instead staring down at the lake that raged quietly below thanks to the storm. In her half-asleep daze, it took her a moment to realize that he wasn’t actually on the bridge; instead, he was sitting crouched on the guardrail, looking like he was about ready to--

“Professor?” she tried one more time, and this time, she was actually close enough to reach out and brush her fingers against his too-bony shoulder. He startled immediately, eyes going wide as he started to slip from the sudden jump. She latched onto his arm instinctively and pulled him back towards her. She was shocked that he was actually light enough for her to slam him to the ground of the bridge. He blinked blearily up at her, shielding his eyes from the water pouring down from the sky. She stood over him, looking like a deer in the headlights.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

“Fine,” he mumbled before slowly sitting up. It looked as though he were waking from a deep trance, and that frightened her. He finally seemed to notice her and looked perplexed. “Emma? What are you doing here? Don’t you know how late it is?”

“I could be asking you the same thing,” she shot back, and they both simply stared at each other, stuck in their stubborn ways. Even in the dim light that the nearby lampposts casted, she could see just how pathetic he looked. His eyes red, his cheeks hollow, and his entire frame so small that even the slim-fit sweater he had on looked baggy. He tried to keep her gaze but found himself darting his eyes around like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“I was, uh, just going for a wal--”

“I’m not stupid, professor,” she cut him off harshly; a bit too harsh, perhaps, because he winced from the sound of the accusation that went unsaid. Neither of them wanted to address it, and the air around them grew awkward. “Sir,” she started slowly, and now he was slowly starting to rise, still avoiding her gaze, “were you going to--”

It was his turn to cut her off. “You better get home safely. It’s going to be one hell of a storm tonight.”

“I will, but, sir--”

“Worst one of the season.”

“Ok--”

“So, I’ll, uh, be seeing you.”

He turned on his heel, but she grabbed his arm once more. He winced from the grip, but she refused to let go. She didn’t want to know what would happen if she did. But why did she care so much about a teacher she hadn’t seen in months? Did it have something to do with the fact that he was the only one in this fucking town that actually seemed to care about her? Was this her returning the favor.

There were a million questions running through her head, but the only one she could manage to ask was, “Why?”

He might have been crying by this point, but it was hard to tell with how heavy the rain was falling. There was no grandeur in his stance, no sign of that over-the-top professor she had known just a few months back. Now, there was just a sad old man in his wake, frail and small despite being two heads taller than her.

“I don’t know,” he choked and tried to clear his throat. It was obvious that he didn’t want Emma--or anyone, for that matter--to see him so broken. She was sure that got tiring, trying to hide your emotions to make yourself seem strong. Reminded her of a certain crabby barista she knew…

She didn’t want to push it any further. At least, not right now. She could bring it up with him another day; now just wasn’t the time. She was going to ask him another question, but he beat her to it.

“You really should get home; I’ll be alright.” God, he was such an awful liar. That was something she learned about him last semester; he might have been the most dramatic and theatrical bitch on the planet, but he couldn’t lie to save his fucking life.

“Yeah, and if I leave right now, you would just try again.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off, so he stared down at his shoes to avoid her haughty gaze. There was silence again for a moment, no sound except the pattering of rain until a wave of thunder sounded overhead. They both looked up towards the sky, frowns etched deep on their faces.

“I’m taking you home,” Emma announced in a way that left no room for argument, and Henry, after hesitating for a moment, gave a slight nod. His eyes were beginning to glaze over, and from the way he swayed when he moved, she wondered if he was drunk. Maybe that’s why…

The uber to the professor’s home was expensive as fuck since it was on the very edge of town, but Emma didn’t mind paying the fare even if it meant not being able to pay one of her many bills. She had been here once before to drop off some late papers last semester, but it seemed like the house--nay, the mansion--had grown even larger even though that was surely not possible. She didn’t have much time to admire it as she worked to get her indeed-very-drunk professor inside. He had to support almost his whole weight on her as they headed past the gates and through the front door, but he was surprisingly light. Something Emma would have to make sure to fix in the future.

For now, though, she steered them into the kitchen. Henry plopped down into a chair at the island while Emma rummaged through his cupboards and fridge. “Not hungry,” he grumbled, and it was obvious that he was exhausted. Though the adrenalin was coursing through her earlier, she was starting to feel weary again herself.

“Yeah, well, it’s not like we can make much anyway.” She slammed the refrigerator door shut and turned to look at the older man. “There is literally no food in your kitchen. When was the last time you ate?”

The professor seemed to think about it for a moment, and the fact that he had to do so only made Emma more worried. “Uh… Tuesday, I had some soup, I think. So, like, a couple days ago?”

If he wasn’t in such a sorry state, she would have slapped him. “Hidgens, it’s literally Saturday.” She glanced at the clock that shone bright above the stove and sighed. “Well, Sunday now, actually.”

He didn’t respond to that, his eyes blinking blearily at her as he fought to stay awake. “Wanna go to bed…”

She rolled her eyes at the whininess in his voice. “Fine, but I’m getting you groceries tomorrow. After I slap you, that is.” She helped him up to his bedroom on the second floor. He didn’t even bother to change out of soaking clothes; as soon as they stepped inside, he fell onto the bed. She tried not to look around too much--this was her professor’s private living quarters, after all--but the room was pretty bare anyways. It was kind of a stark contrast from the rest of the house that was so obviously lived in and messy.

She had moved over to put the comforter over top of him when she noticed a photo on his bedside table. He caught her looking at it through his half-lidded eyes and smiled a melancholy sort of smile.

“My old friends,” he whispered before trailing off, leaving her to admire the grainy photo of seven college-age boys standing on a football field, all grinning towards the camera. It was easy to spot Henry, dead-center with a wide grin and graying hair, arms strung around two others. It was the happiest she had ever seen him and looked like it was taken a lifetime ago. She wondered who the others were, but now really wasn’t the time to ask. Instead, she headed towards the door and flicked off the light.

“Good night, professor. I’m gonna head home.”

She could hear him roll around in the bed for a moment. “No,” his voice rung out, soft and light as a feather, “there’s a guest room down the hall. Storm’s too dangerous.”

She nodded even though he couldn’t see her in the dark. She turned to leave again but was stopped.

“Oh, Emma?”

His voice were more timid this time, but it also somehow was the most level-headed she had heard him all night. “Yeah, professor?”

“Thank you.”

As the door clicked shut, she smiled to herself. It was a shitty end to a shitty day, but at least she was helping someone she cared about. Crashing at her teacher’s place wasn’t what she expected to be doing that day, but it could’ve been a lot worse. She headed down the hall, and though she was ready for bed, she planned to make a shopping list first. No way she was letting that man go hungry for another day.


End file.
